Living with Jackie Chan (24 page)

I wonder how long it will take for someone to dare to say, “Yeah, right.”

“Well, let’s get you home.” Gene scoops Ben out of the stroller and hugs him before he puts him in his car seat. Ben’s whole face changes when he sees his dad. He looks at him like kids look at presents.

I help Stella into the back. We’re all pretty quiet on the ride home, except for Ben’s happy
ga-ga
noises in the backseat.

“How you doing back there, sweets?” Gene asks Stella.

“Never been better,” Stella says.

“That was some accident, Stell. How the heck does someone get their foot run over by a car?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Stella says sarcastically.

Gene leans his head toward the rearview mirror so he can see her face. “Hey,” he says. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine,” she says quietly.

Gene focuses back on the road.

“So, Josh, you’re graduating soon, too, right? We’re so bummed Stella’s leaving us. Don’t you want to do a gap year, Stell? Stick around for a while?”

“No chance,” Stella says. “I’ve got a ticket to New York and it’s one-way.” She turns to me. “What about you?”

“Temple,” I say.

“Nice!” She looks genuinely happy. “I’ve heard Philly is a really cool city.”

“Yeah,” I say. But it’s not New York. And I realize it’s very likely we will never see each other again.

Gene pulls up to the curb in front of our building, and I help Stella out. “Can you make sure she gets in safely?” he asks me. “I have to go pick up Gil.”

“No problem,” I say. I look in the backseat and notice that Ben is watching me. He reaches out his hand and points his little finger at me. I reach through the window and gently squeeze it. “Nice hanging with you,” I say.

“Ga.”

“OK, we’ll see you later!” Gene says, cutting off our deep conversation.

When I let go of Ben’s finger, my own are wet with his drool. But it doesn’t gross me out. I feel the familiar hurt in my chest and force myself to shrug it off as the car pulls away.

Stella glances up at the steep steps to the front door and groans. “This is gonna be fun.”

“Want some help?” I ask.

“If you don’t mind . . .”

I take her crutches and stoop down so she can put her arm around me. As soon as she gets close, I smell her familiar scent. Her laundry detergent and shampoo, mixed with the perfume she wears.

“Ready?” I ask. She nods, and I help her hop up each step on one foot. When we go inside and get in the elevator, she presses two instead of her own floor.

“Do you mind if I crash with you for a while? I don’t think I can face our empty apartment. And who knows when my mom will get home?”

“Where is she?”

“Calvin’s, most likely. They’re still together. All the time, in fact. If she’s not staying out late to take a class, she’s crashing at his place. It’s like she’s already said good-bye to me, and I haven’t even left yet.”

“Oh.”

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can tell just thinking about them hurts her somehow. “Anyway. Can I hang at your place for a while?”

“Yeah. Sure,” I say. But I wonder if this is the best idea. I wonder if I should be so forgiving.
Britt
screws up and I’m supposed to have been waiting around all this time so we can be friends again?

The elevator door opens, and she leads the way to Larry’s on her crutches. When we get inside, I help her prop her foot up on the coffee table and we read through her discharge instructions to figure out when she can take the next round of pain meds and stuff.

“Thank God I’m eighteen,” she says. “I never would’ve gotten out of that place.” There’s a sadness about her, though. She shouldn’t have had to go through that without her mom. An adult who could take care of her. Not me.

I wish Larry would come home. He would know what to say. How to make her feel better. He would call her
Stell-aaaaaaah
and make her laugh. It feels like too much time has passed since we hung out, and now being with her here feels awkward.

I bring her a glass of water and sit next to her on the couch.

“So, what do you want to do?” I ask.

She sighs. “I don’t know. Want to sign my bandage?”

“I thought people only signed casts.”

“Humor me? I always wanted a cast when I was a kid. You know. So my friends could sign it and draw funny pictures and stuff. Of course, I never really had that many friends, so that was a total fantasy. I probably would have ended up drawing on it myself in different colors and handwriting to make it look like I was popular.”

“You haven’t always been popular?”

“Nah. That’s all Britt. After today . . . well, we’ll see. Who cares, anyway? School’s over. It’s time to move on. My school friends were all his first. Not mine. They’re not the true kind. Not like you.”

“Is this your way of guilting me into signing that thing?”

“Yes?”

“That’s just sad.”

“Oh, come on, please? Think of the honor of getting to be first.”

“Fine.” I find a marker in the junk drawer in the kitchen. “What do I write?”

“Your name?”

“That’s so lame.”

“Be creative, then. Surprise me.”

I just sit there holding the marker and staring at her foot. “Wait a minute. What if Britt sees this?”

She stops smiling. “He won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s over.”

“For now.”

“Forever.”

I raise my eyebrows. “For real?”

She sighs. “Just sign this thing, will you? Be clever. I know you can.”

I draw a stick figure doing a karate kick and write
True Karate Man
and then an arrow pointing up, so it’s aimed at Stella.

“Nice,” she says. “You know, that whole thing is pretty sexist.”

“Maybe you should tell that to Larry.”

“Maybe I will.”

It feels weird to be talking to her again, just like old times. Weird and pretty great. But it’s awkward, too. And I know we’re going to have to figure out how to acknowledge the fact that all this time has passed without talking, and how stupid that was. But for now I guess we’re both just silently relieved that we
are
talking to each other, so neither of us brings it up.

We decide to order takeout and watch a movie, but before the food comes, Larry bursts through the door.

“Oh, thank God!” he yells, running over to Stella. “I didn’t get your message until after class. I tried to call back, but you didn’t answer your phone! I ran all the way here!”

He’s completely out of breath, sweat pouring in huge droplets down the side of his face. He’s still wearing his gi.

“Are you OK? Oh, my God. Look at your foot! Poor Stella!”

“Relax, Larry. I’m fine. I turned my phone off when we got here.”

She did? I wonder if she turned it off so Britt couldn’t reach her.

Larry turns to me. “Sammy, you took care of her?”

I roll my eyes.

“You’re such a good boy.” He reaches out to ruffle my hair.

“Easy, Larry,” I say.

The buzzer rings, and I take the cue to escape. When I come back with the food, Larry’s already setting the coffee table.

“We were going to watch a movie,” Stella tells him. “Want to join?”

“Oh! Yes! Can I pick? I have the perfect choice. Just let me take a quick shower.”

“You never should have agreed to let him pick,” I say as we eat. “You know it’s going to be another Jackie Chan.”

Stella shrugs. “I like Jackie Chan.”

I lean back on the couch. “You’re only saying that to annoy me.”

“That’s because you’re so cute when you’re annoyed.”

My face burns. I get up to clear the table and escape to the kitchen to do the dishes as fast as I can. Larry joins me just as I’m finishing up. His skin is still wet from the shower. His T-shirt is all wet, too.

“Ever heard of a towel?” I ask him.

“I was in a hurry!”

Pathetic.

“I’m making Stella a smoothie,” he says. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

“Hey.” He motions for me to come closer. “How did it happen, anyway?” he whispers. “Did the boyfriend do it on purpose?”

“No, it was an accident. But she’s lucky she wasn’t hurt worse.”

“He really is a shit.”

“I know that.”

“I can hear you, ya know!” Stella calls from the living room.

Larry grimaces. “Oops.”

I shake my head.

“Sorry, hon! But you know it’s the truth! We only say it cuz we love you!”

Larry elbows me and mouths,
Now’s your chance.

Shut up,
I mouth back.

Larry makes a face.
Now,
he mouths again.

I push him away.

When the smoothie is made and we’re all settled on the couch, Larry pulls up his movie choice.

Stella groans. “
The Karate Kid
? Really?”

“It’s the remake with Jackie!” Larry says. “I’ve been wanting to watch it for years. I heard it’s actually pretty good!”

“From who, the Jackie Chan Fan Club?” I ask.

He waves his hand dismissively. “This is the Jackie Chan Dis-Free Zone. Hush.”

So we sit there and watch. And it’s kind of agonizing sitting here with Larry making noises through every fight scene and even getting up a few times to mimic the moves, and Stella sitting so close our arms keep touching. And me wondering if she’s doing it on purpose or not, because it feels like torture trying to figure out what it all means.

When the movie is finally over, Larry sniffs and wipes his eyes. “See? Great, right?”

Stella and I exchange looks.

“Oh, come on, guys! You loved it. I know you did.”

“I preferred the original,” Stella says.

“But that one didn’t have Jackie!” Larry whines.

“Why is it called
The Karate Kid
? They don’t even do karate. They do kung fu.”

“Who cares! That’s what makes it so great!”

“Because it has a stupid title?” I ask.

“No, because it’s just like me! Karate dude in love with kung-fu dude.”

“So . . .
confused
dude?” Stella grins when Larry reaches over to swat her.

“Not that kind of love,” he says. “It’s admiration. No. Awe.”

“Awe,” I say. “That’s one way to put it.”

“You two are impossible. Jackie is the Man. He doesn’t have to be a karate man to be the Man. Get it?”

Um. No?

Stella shifts on the couch and winces. “There we go with ‘the Man.’ We need to talk about that, Lar.”

“What do you mean?”

She wiggles her foot at him, then cringes.

Larry inspects my drawing. “I don’t get it.”

“What is a true karate
man
?” she asks.

“Well, that’s just traditional. It means woman, too.”

“Then we should say that.”

“But ‘What is a true karate man or woman?’ sounds so awkward,” he whines.

“Not to me.”

“Fine. We can add ‘or woman.’”

“Really? You’re the best, Lar!”

“That’s true. Now. Admit you liked the movie. Please?”

“It was cute,” Stella says. “Jackie was awesome.”

“Thank you. Josh?”

“Adorable,” I say.

Larry mopes, but then starts doing a bunch of blocks and kicks around the living room, so clearly he’s not really that upset. If only we could all get over ourselves so easily.

It’s late by the time we bring Stella up to her apartment. Larry insists on going because he wants to talk with Star about what happened. When we step inside the place, though, there’s no sign of Star. The apartment feels empty and unlived in. There’s not much furniture or anything on the walls. I cringe, realizing this is what Stella comes home to every day. To loneliness. I can imagine the contrast she must feel when she visits the house of
Britt
with the BMW. Is that why she stayed with him so long? Because of the promise of something better?

Stella’s bedroom is just as spare as the rest of the house. There are no posters on the wall, just a black-and-white photo of a dirt road leading to some unknown place in the distance. On her nightstand, there’s a photo of Britt, which she turns over as soon as she gets close enough to reach it.

“On second thought,” she says. She picks it back up and dumps it in the wastebasket next to the nightstand.

“Oh,” Larry says, touching a light-green dress hanging on a hook on the back of the door. “Is this your dress for prom?”

Stella frowns. “Was. Good thing I have the wedding to wear it to.”

“Oh, Stell,” Larry says. “I’m so sorry. Can’t you go without him?” He eyes me in his Larry-like way, as if to say, for the hundredth time,
Here’s your chance.

I pretend I don’t get the message.

“It’s fine,” Stella says. “I don’t want to go. Not like this.” But it’s obviously not fine, because her eyes start to water.

“What can we do to help?” Larry says. “I hate to leave you like this.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m just gonna brush my teeth and crash.”

“Do you think your mom’ll be home soon? Do you need help getting into some pj’s?”

“She’s not five, Lar,” I say.

Stella laughs. “I can manage.”

Larry gives her a big hug. “Call if you need anything, hon.
Anything.
”